A Gryffindor's Curse
by Imagen99
Summary: A Gryffindor's fatal flaw is often not their pride.


It was on the Thursday morning that day that Hermione Granger first recognised that something was wrong. It was indisputable to her now, and the days she'd spent feeling slightly off all came to a head as she realised the problem wouldn't solve itself – for never before had Hermione Granger eagerly awaited the end of a class, save perhaps divination, and even then she'd never sat bored of all things as a teacher explained a complicated new theory. It was most unlike her, and she soon found her mind wandering, trying to figure it all out before it impacted negatively on her. She wouldn't want a repeat of her third year, after all. She mentally ticked off all of the possibilities in her head; was she ill? No, she felt fine, if a little tired… Was it that then? No. She'd spent plenty a night up past midnight studying without trouble. Perhaps it was Ron… No, they were back to being friends now, even if she did want… No.

The cogs in her mind still turning, Hermione moved through the rest of the lesson in a daze, completing the charm on her own before moving to correct Harry and Ron. Something clearly was wrong with her, but the question was, what?

"No, Harry, your wand should flick, not swish." She muttered, surprised when he didn't give an answer right away. She then looked at him properly for the first time, fixing him with her best McGonagall stare. "Are you alright?" To her consternation, he merely sighed, nodded his head at went back to work. Clearly he was lying. But then again, it had been a foolish question… how could he possibly be alright after everything that had happened? Knowing that now was not the time to push him, Hermione bit her lip and went back to Ron, wishing there was something more she could do to help Harry. It simply wasn't fair on him.

~~~/~~~

Minerva McGonagall sighed audibly as she watched her sixth year students attempting their latest set of spells. Amanda seemed to be getting along splendidly, although Finickley certainly hadn't improved since last week – and unless he put the effort in he wasn't likely to, either. Everyone else had varying results, some good, some terrible, all expected. Her gaze travelled across the room until it landed on her three nestled in the back. They were all hard at work, and for once not speaking in hushed sighed, thankful that they were still there. Usually by this time in the year, one or more of them was in the hospital wing, and she was busy filing papers and trying to stem the abundance of grey hairs that had sprouted ever since their 'exciting' first year. She reflected bitterly that there never had been a quiet year for them at Hogwarts, and since Albus had taken Harry under his wing, Minerva feared there never would be.

At that moment a stray spark caught her attention as it whizzed past her ear, and she turned to bark at the culprit before returning to her Gryffindors. She noted with a hint of house pride that Hermione had successfully mastered her set of spells, and was moving to help the others. However, it seemed that in this lesson at least they didn't need her help, and were getting along well on their own, causing the girl to raise her eyebrows before sitting back and watching. Minerva frowned then for the first time. She waited a few moments, and then pursed her lips. Hermione had never before sat and watched, for like Minerva herself she was quite the busybody and liked to be occupied at all times. She should've approached the elder woman by now asking for extra work. Moving slightly closer she noted that although there was nothing wrong that could be pinpointed, the girl did seem a bit downtrodden and world-weary.

Minerva rolled her eyes, confident that the brunette was probably overworking herself again. Deciding to nip the issue in the bud as soon as possible, she resolved to speak with her at the end of the day before turning around and snapping at Dean for being foolish. She worried that he was a slight pyromaniac sometimes…how he could produce sparks in attempting this spell was anyone's guess.

~~~/~~~

That day she approached the Gryffindor table after dinner and sought out her best pupil. Silence escorted her, and as she approached it was only Hermione who didn't notice; the other students all tilted their heads in respect.

"Miss Granger, a word if you please?" Hermione looked up from her thoughts and inwardly groaned. The way she was feeling, she'd really rather not have a conversation with her Professor, sure as she was that she'd failed the last essay she'd handed in. Still, she followed her Professor to her office without protest, her thoughts still on the issue at hand, when a thought occurred to her. Perhaps McGonagall could be of some help to her? She'd certainly tried her best in the years past. But then, what help could she possibly be if Hermione herself didn't know what was wrong? Hermione scowled at the thought of admitting that to her Professor, and mulled the decision over in the mind as McGonagall started talking. There really didn't seem to be a way to fix it…

A sudden lull in the conversation alerted Hermione to the fact that she'd spent more than a few moments retreating. "Are you well, Miss Granger?" McGonagall sounded alarmed, and Hermione opened her mouth steadily to assure her, but found the words catching in her blinked, surprised to find fresh tears in her eyes, and looked away from her teacher, carefully considering the question for the first time. Was she alright? Mouth still ajar, she searched for the strength to answer, unsure whether she was about to brush off the question or even burst into tears.

Fortunately, her decision was made for her. "Perhaps we should retire to my quarters for a spot of tea instead…" McGonagall suggested, her steadfast tone implying that she was only asking to be polite. As the elder woman rose, she opened the door to her office and gestured for Hermione to exit with her. The brisk clicking of her heels was all that was heard through the corridors, and the noise echoed through Hermione's mind terribly. Hurriedly, she wiped her eyes with the hem of her jumper and sniffed, trying to bite back the strange tears that had already begun to form.

"Miss Granger?" McGonagall asked as she slowed down, scrutinising her pupil's appearance. A thought seemed to hit her, and she pulled out a packet of tissues from the recesses of her pockets.  
"Thank you…" Hermione muttered, glad for the chance to properly clean herself up before someone saw her. It wouldn't do for more rumours to be about the common room than usual, especially ones concerning her…

With that done, McGonagall began briskly walking again, and Hermione trailed behind, with the former turning around to check she was still present every so often. They reached the Gryffindor's head of house far too soon for Hermione's liking, and as she stepped through the gilded portrait of Godric Gryffindor and into the sparse sitting room of Minerva McGonagall, Hermione wondered how on Earth she was going to answer the questions that would inevitably be asked of her. Meanwhile McGonagall turned to her as she removed her cloak and gloves, unabashedly staring at the proud, yet awkward youth before her. It was almost as if she was sizing up how much of a challenge the younger woman would be. Feeling unnerved, Hermione cleared her throat and drummed her hand against her leg. "Professor?" She asked mildly, raising her eyebrows slightly to mimic her teacher. Thankfully this seemed to heave the elder woman out of her thoughts and into the present. She sat down in a rather uncomfortable looking plaid chair, gesturing for Hermione to do the same before fetching them some tea and biscuits.

"Ginger Newt?" She enquired, brandishing a plaid tin rather aggressively at the younger girl. Hermione blinked, a little bemused, before taking a biscuit carefully and muttering her thanks. By now she was perched precariously on the edge of her chair, eagerly awaiting her chance to brush this whole thing under the rug and retire back to her dorm. She dragged her attention away from thoughts of her bed and focussed on the woman in front of her, who seemed mildly pleased that she'd taken the biscuit without complaint and was now dipping her own into a cup of earl grey tea. Quietly she observed Hermione before opening her mouth. "I should state right now that you aren't going anywhere until I am satisfied that you are in good health." She stated simply. Her definite tone combined with the brusqueness of her Scottish accent told Hermione that she wasn't jesting.

"I am in good health!" She protested half-heartedly. "In fact, I haven't been ill in years!"  
Her teacher didn't bat an eyelid. "I am aware." She said crisply. "Alas – I'm sure you know this – I mean emotionally." The brunette's face fell. "I've also had a few members of staff contact me to see if there was anything wrong; naturally, I assured them that this was not the case, but now I find myself not so sure…"  
Hermione balked, her face whitening. "I'm not slipping am I?" She asked, wringing her hands.  
McGonagall didn't miss a beat. "Grade-wise? No. You're doing as well as ever and making fantastic progress. However, like today, they've all reported that you don't seem…. Yourself. Certainly, if you were at all 'well' it wouldn't have taken so long for you to answer a simple question." She stated, referring to their earlier conversation. Hermione frowned and she changed tack. "Hermione, I've been your head of house for almost six years now, and never before have you hesitated in coming to me for assistance." She set down her cup, and leaned forward expectantly. "I know you want help, that much is obvious." Gently she pushed down the cup Hermione still cradled in her hands as a flash of indecision flashed across her face. "So please… tell me what is bothering you?"

A pained expression danced across the young Gryffindor's face, quickly smothered as she gritted her teeth and searched for the answer in the intricate curtains beside her. Finally, after what felt like an age, she shook her head tiredly and slumped in her chair. "I don't know."  
Instinctively knowing she wasn't lying, Minerva pulled back and titled her head in concern.  
"Well…" she searched for the key things that could be wrong. "Is everything alright at home?"  
Hermione winced, and answered carefully. "No, everything's the usual at home…" She said, her tone firm, and Minerva decided to take the hint and pursue other avenues.  
"Well, what about school – no one has said anything have they?"  
Hermione shook her head, running her hands through her hair. "In truth, it's no one big thing… I mean it's silly really... Just an abundance of little things I let get in the way." She said, speaking more to the floor than to Minerva. Consequently, she missed the elder woman's face soften, relieved as she was that Hermione wasn't being more stubborn. She herself certainly would've been, and sometimes it took a few moments for Minerva to realise, that similar as they were, the two of them were also quite different. Minerva herself had a whole lifetime of experience that had hardened her into the infinitely private person she was today. She was certainly lucky that Hermione hadn't learned that hard lesson yet, and if the Gryffindor head of house had her way, she never would.

"Hermione, I'm your head of house. If it's not my job to listen to your 'little' troubles and worries, then what is?" Minerva asked. Hermione mumbled something in return and Minerva tutted. "It's never a bother for any of my Gryffindors to come to me, thought it seems that it's only you and your two friends that do not know that." Minerva prodded lightly. In response Hermione blushed, smiling crookedly. Deciding to get up at that moment, Minerva went to her desk and shuffled her papers, giving Hermione a chance to breathe. "You three seem to be under the perception that everything you do must be done alone. It doesn't have to be." She said calmly, pausing to eye her student. "I hope that in the future if anything is wrong you will know that."  
Hermione nodded firmly and Minerva smiled briefly. "So what is this 'little' thing that is troubling you, my dear?" She finally asked, content that Hermione would answer her honestly.

Hermione watched as Minerva turned her back, her heart searching for the answer. "Well, it's not a lot, it's just little things; the war, house elves, my mum and dad, Ron, Harry." She said, and Minerva sighed.  
"What has Mister Weasley done this time?" Hermione blushed bright red at that statement.  
"Nothing – we're finally getting on again, it's just the usual worries." She said. "Whether or not I need to worry about his studies or us as friends or…" She stopped abruptly, and Minerva smiled in mirth.  
"I see. What about Harry?" All at once Hermione's face fell and Minerva knew she had reached the biggest of her 'little' problems.  
"I don't know. He seems alright, but he … he drifts places when he thinks we're not looking." Her voice held a careful air, and she spoke in an almost whisper. "I don't know where he goes, but each time he does, he comes back a little graver, a little more serious and… resolute." Minerva turned back to her, facing her sadly as she recalled her own feelings of worry concerning friends over the years. "He just… retreats. I think he knows it's coming soon. His battle with Voldemort, I mean." Hermione twisted her hands, as her face scrunched up. "And I try to help him but I can't think how…Nothing works. I've tried everything, but he just gets sadder and sadder." She finally looked up into her mentor's eyes. "What am I supposed to do to help him?"

At a loss for words, Minerva put her hand on the bridge of her nose; she knew that an industrious person like Hermione wouldn't like the answer she had.  
"You can only be there for him."  
Predictably the young girl threw her hands up. "Surely something can be done? Surely we can help in some way…?" She shook her head at the statement. "I don't believe it."  
Minerva frowned, tapping the desk beside her in thought.  
"Why are you punishing yourself for something you can't help?" She finally asked, knowing the answer.  
"Because he's my friend! And I'm his friend; I should be able to help him…."  
Minerva frowned further. "But what else can you do?"  
Hermione sighed, her head in her hands, and her biscuit tumbled to the floor. "I don't know….I study and search and hope to find something – anything – that will help, but I can't find anything!"

Minerva leaned backwards, her careful questions the only thing interrupting Hermione's steady torrent of emotion.  
"What makes you think you're going to find the answer in a book?"  
Hermione shrugged. "Well, surely there's something there… If there isn't…" She gestured rashly. "What's the point? What is the point in all of the magic in the world, if it can't fix simple things? But there is literally nothing I can find! I can't even fix their juvenile problems, because I just do not know how! What kind of a friend am I, if I can't even do that?" Tears again had begun sprouting in her eyes. "I-I….I'm a failure!"

It was at that point Minerva decide to stop her.  
"No."  
"But-" She turned her head, unable to meet the elder woman's eye.  
"Hermione, you are so far from a failure that I could laugh at the idea, if I wanted to." She stated simply, her Scottish roots and conviction coming through strongly in her accent. "But I do know now what is wrong, and possibly how to fix it." Hermione's head snapped up instantly, her hopeful eyes searching Minerva's sharp green ones for an answer. Minerva paused, unsure for a moment how to proceed, before deciding to do it the Gryffindor way and be as blunt as possible.

"In the staff room we refer to it as my Gryffindor's fatal flaw." She began, earning a confused look from her student. "Sure enough, at some point all of my students have come to me with the same problem. Some are desperate, others merely troubled, but it's always the same thing at the root of it: in essence, it's an inability to accept their own limitations and abilities." Seeing that her student was no closer to understanding how this related to her, Minerva elaborated. "You have this incurable urge to protect everyone and everything. To solve people's problems before they even begin. You, like every other Gryffindor, feel that for some reason you should be able to 'fix' anything." A light dawned on her young student's face. "You take on any obstacle and expect the same results every time… in a nutshell, you want to save everybody." The pallor of her student's cheeks began to redden and she opened her mouth to protest. "It isn't a bad thing – nay, if anything it's an admirable trait. In my opinion, it's one of our better ones." Minerva continued. "But sooner or later, you're going to have to realise that it is impossible to solve other people's problems for them." She sighed, and sat down again, eye level with her favourite student. It seemed she'd have to spell it out for her. "You are never going to be able to fix Harry and Ronald's problems for them. Neither are you going to help the house elves without their own support."

Hermione opened her mouth to object. "But it's awful the way they're treated!" She began.  
Minerva put up a hand to soothe her. "I know, but if they do not want the help they shall not accept it, and there will be nothing you can do." She reached out a hand to the younger woman's, patting it gently. "Take it from someone who learned the hard way, at a much later point in their life."  
Hermione sat there biting her lip, the logical part of her agreeing with her Professor, but her inner lion protesting the statement. "But-"  
"I'm not asking you to draw back completely, but there is only so much you'll ever be able to do." She watched as Hermione twisted her hands again.  
"I know that you're right…"She began slowly.  
"Good. At least you can accept that." She withdrew her hand, instead patting her shoulder comfortingly. "You may even find that just being a listening ear will help more. Sometimes all people want is someone to listen and understand, not fix their problems." Hermione heard her own thoughts echoed back at her, and grimaced at the irony of it.  
"It'll take time to sink in." She said, her voice holding a weary, yet resolute tone.  
McGonagall patted her shoulder, smiling tightly. "Well, you know now at least that I'm always here to help, no matter how insignificant the problem."  
"Thank you." Hermione said, fully grateful for her help. "I think I just… needed to talk to someone."  
"I take it you feel more yourself again then?" McGonagall asked, eyes hopeful. Hermione nodded her affirmation. "Good. Then you may have another biscuit and be on your way." She smiled, offering her the tin. Hermione took one daintily, before finishing her tea and rising to leave.  
"I really do mean it, Professor. Thank you." She said before she left.

Minerva couldn't then get past the feeling that she'd finally gotten through to the girl, and that perhaps now, after six years at her school, Hermione would seek out help for her and her friends if she needed it. Straightening herself and squaring her shoulders, Minerva took on a more foreboding air. "Now to deal with Potter…" She muttered, knowing that getting through Harry's thick set of hair and to his brain would be infinitely harder.


End file.
